"Now whosoever serves that God ought to bear within him no dissimulation, no reserve, but devote his whole being to him. If he does not entertain such feelings, he ought at least to offer no external consent to idolatrous worship, or to a profane worship; for no one can deceive God, to whom the secret of our hearts lies open. ... I am really astonished that any man should hope to see you restore the altars of the Gentiles, and give money from your coffers for profane sacrifices. .... O emperor! do not allow any man to deceive your youth. ... And I likewise, I am for following the experience of the wise, but God's counsels must rule supreme over all others. If we had to do here with some military concern, you should consult and follow the opinion of the best approved generals. But in religious matters you are bound to listen to God. Is the man who gives you this piece of advice a heathen? Well, don't force him to believe what he won't believe; but then let him allow you, O emperor! the same freedom: let him not attempt to force upon the sovereign an act of violence that he would not himself endure at his hands. The very heathen does not like a man to belie his own creed; every one ought to maintain the free and sincere convictions of his own mind. Should those who hurry you on to such a decision be but nominal Christians, pray, do not allow yourself to be deluded by a name. Whoever advises you in this way sacrifices to the gods, whether he admits it or not. ..."
Ambrose wound up by requesting to obtain communication of the petition, with a view of answering it. "In a worldly suit," said he, "you would listen to both parties. This is a matter of religion. I, the bishop, I come forth to defend her. ... If you refuse me, no bishop will submit peacefully to such an iniquity; you may still apply to the church, but you will not meet any more with priests, or at least with any who will not be ready to resist you."
Thoroughly to appreciate the weight of this strong language, it must be remembered that many a lukewarm Christian within the imperial council inclined to the restoration of the famous statue. To refuse the request of Ambrose would, however, have been imprudent, and besides, Valentinian the Younger revered and loved the venerable bishop, who had shown him great kindness in trying circumstances. Once in possession of the pagan manifesto, the great prelate of the West dealt with it in a manner which scattered to the four winds both its arguments and rhetorical flourishes. The whole composition is a masterpiece of sound reason and gentlemanly satire, forming a thorough defence of Christianity against idolatry. When it was read before the council, every wavering mind was struck dumb with astonishment, whilst the youthful sovereign broke forth in the following impassioned words: "It's the voice of Daniel; I will not undo what my brother did." Of course the cause of the goddess Victory was lost for ever.
But something was not and could not be lost—we mean the contest between the church and idolatry, that survived even the final crash of the empire. Yet that crash, though imminent, could not yet be foreseen by either party, still less perhaps by Ambrose himself, who was a true type of the old Roman. His constant object seems to have been to revive the pristine policy of his forefathers, by instilling new life into them, thanks to the sublime doctrines of the new faith. So things went on just in the same way, Christianity impregnating more and more the habits, institutions, and laws of ancient society, but for purposes that were still the secret of Providence. In the mean time Gratian was murdered by the usurper Maximus, and Ambrose was once more called to negotiate with the murderer, and to defend the last relics of the Valentinian family. A short time yet runs on, and Theodosius remains sole ruler of the whole civilized world—a ruler according to the heart of the holy bishop of Milan. With an Ambrose and a Theodosius to prop the tottering edifice, what might not be expected? And yet it was not to be. These two bright figures are but a transient gleam between two storms. Alaric was born—nay, more, he had been a silent spectator in the glittering crowd of courtiers who attended at the coronation of Theodosius. How many wild dreams of invasion, and burning cities, and bloody battles were teeming at that very moment in the brain of that young barbarian!
Singular enough, the first occasion on which Ambrose and Theodosius met, as it were, in public, gave rise to a contest. The emperor, irritated at the summary destruction of a Jewish synagogue by one of the Eastern prelates, had ordered it to be rebuilt at the expense of the prelate. The bishop was absent from Milan when the order was given and sent; on his return, he felt indignant that a Christian prelate should be bound to rebuild a temple dedicated to the execration of Jesus Christ. It was in his eyes a sort of prevarication far more guilty than the violation of any civil law. He immediately wrote to the emperor in the strongest language; and here again he sets forth that great Christian doctrine which was afterward so fully developed and exemplified in the middle age. The whole incident is so striking that we shall give it in the words of Prince de Broglie:
"Ambrose begins by a short insinuative exordium: 'Listen to me, O emperor! as you wish that God may listen to me when I am praying for you. If I am not worthy of being heard by you, how should I be worthy of transmitting your wishes and prayers? If it be not proper for an emperor to fear plain speaking, it is not likewise proper for a priest to disassemble his thoughts.'
"He then enters fully and unreservedly into his own doctrine: he maintains the unlawfulness of any help given by Christians for the construction of an edifice destined to error; and the faithful, but, above all, the bishops, have no more the right to do it than the emperor to impose it upon them. If the bishop yields to the imperial order, he becomes guilty, and the emperor responsible before God for the bishop's weakness. 'So you must see,' pursues Ambrose, 'whither you are going. You ought to fear quite as much the bishop's obedience as his resistance. If he is steadfast, fear to make a martyr of him; if he shows weakness, fear that you may bear the weight of his fall. And, indeed, how will your order be fulfilled? Should the Christians refuse to accomplish it, will you force them to it through violence? So you will be obliged to confide to the Count of the East your victorious standards, your labarum; nay, the very standard of Christ himself, with the mission of restoring a temple, wherein Christ will be denied. Well, pray order that the labarum shall be carried into the synagogue, and then see whether anyone will obey you. ... History tells us that idolatrous temples were erected in Rome with the spoils of the Cimbrians. In our days, the Jews may engrave on the frontispiece of their synagogue: Temple built with the spoils of the Christians. Public order requires it, will you say? So the appearance of outward order must lord it over the interests of faith! No; authority must yield to piety.'
"It would be impossible to assert in language of more rigorous cogency the supremacy of the religious law over every civil law. The church, in her maternal prudence, is far from having ratified on these delicate points the tenets of Ambrose: as she never imposed upon the faithful the obligation of building temples to error, so has she not forbidden them to contribute to their material preservation whenever equity, previous engagements, or the necessity of repairing wrongs requires it of them. It is, therefore, by no means astonishing that Theodosius, arguing like a civil lawgiver, should have deemed these demands excessive, or even that he should have given way to an unusual fit of ill humor. He allowed the letter to remain unanswered. And yet it contained toward the end two lines which offered matter for consideration. 'Such is my request,' said the prelate; 'I have done all in my power to present it with that respect which is due to you: pray, do not force me to speak out in the church.'
"Indeed, as soon as he returned to Milan, Ambrose availed himself of the very first opportunity to speak out at church, and before Theodosius. He chose for his text the words of Jeremiah: 'Take up thy walnut staff, and walk forth.' He boldly asserted that the staff mentioned by the prophet was the sacerdotal rod, intended far less to be agreeable than useful to those whom it scourges. He then recalled several examples of the old law, such as Nathan and David, thus showing that in all times the ministers of God had never spared the truth to kings. The comparison was in itself clear enough, and Theodosius must have felt somewhat uncomfortable at the very first words; but still he could hardly expect that the orator should address him personally. And yet such was the case, when Ambrose said by way of conclusion: 'And now, O emperor! after speaking of you, I must speak to you; reflect that the more God has raised you up in glory, the more you ought to show deference to him who has given you all. .... It is the mercy of Christ which has made you what you are. So you must love Christ's body, or the church, you must wash her feet, kiss them, perfume them, so that the whole dwelling of Christ shall be filled with your good odor; in other words, you must honor the meanest of his disciples, and forgive them their faults, since the repentance of one single sinner gives joy in heaven to all the prophets and apostles. The eye cannot say to the hand, I do not want thee, thou art unnecessary. Every member of the body of Jesus Christ is necessary, and to every one of them you owe protection.'
"The bishop came down from the altar after uttering these words in a tone of severity, and in the midst of the general amazement, for all were aware that the emperor was accused, but no one knew the motive of the reprimand. Theodosius, of course, could not for one instant remain doubtful. Stopping the prelate as he passed by, 'So you have made me the subject of your speech,' said he in an angry tone. 'I said what I deemed of use to yourself,' replied Ambrose. 'I see very well,' resumed the emperor, more moved than ever, 'that you have been speaking of the synagogue. I admit that my orders were somewhat harsh, but I have already mitigated them; and then those monks yonder are so wrong-headed.' [Footnote 114] Here a courtier thought fit to inveigh against the monks, but he was soon stopped by Ambrose, who, once more addressing the emperor, 'I am going to offer the sacrifice!' exclaimed he; 'allow me to offer it for you fearlessly: free me from the burden which weighs down my soul.' 'Well, well,' replied Theodosius, as he sat down again, 'the orders shall be modified, I promise you.' But such a vague promise, and made as it was in a sullen mood, was not deemed sufficient. 'Cancel the whole affair,' insisted Ambrose; 'for, if you allow one tittle of it to remain, your magistrates will take advantage of it to grind down the poor Christians.' The dialogue proceeded in the midst of the whole assembly, and the situation became at last downright intolerable. The emperor gave way, and promised whatever was exacted. 'You swear to it,' said Ambrose; 'I am about to offer the sacrifice on your word. Mind, on your word,' he repeated a second time. 'Yes, on my word,' replied Theodosius, who wanted, at any cost, to put an end to such a scene. The holy sacrifice began; 'and never,' said Ambrose the next day to his sister, 'never did I feel so sensibly the real presence of God in prayer.'" (Vol. ii. pp. 247-254.)